On Se Rencontre Encore
by Christina Simon
Summary: Syd has a run-in with Mr. Sark on a CIA mission, pre-Counteragent. :)


Title: On Se Recontre Encore (We Meet Again) Disclaimer: I own nothing Alias. Summary: This is something I wrote for a friend a while ago and just found - just a random little fic with a S/S bent. SD-6, while existing in this fic, is not mentioned at all and has no relevance - this is all CIA handled. Pre-Counteragent, at least. Let me say one thing - if it's confusing, PM me and I will explain - because parts are. Trust me.  
  
"Sydney Bristow."  
  
She whirls around, clutching the disc in her hand.  
  
He stands directly behind her in the doorway, aiming a gun at her head. Focus, Sydney. Stay calm.  
  
He takes one step closer. "I must admit, it was a pleasant surprise to find you here." He surveys the room as he speaks. "I came here ready to copy the hard drive myself - you've already done that, as indicated by the disc you are holding. I suggest," he continues, stepping towards her again, "that you hand it over to me - and we'll both walk out of here alive."  
  
Sydney notes the time - three minutes until security goes back online.  
  
"It's your decision to make," he says, with a trace of impatience. "I intend to have it by the time security returns, your physical condition notwithstanding. Though it really would pain me to leave you in that manner."  
  
Sydney detests the smirk on Sark's face. "There is not a chance," she replies in a low voice, "that I am just going to hand you that disc."  
  
"Oh, but you will," he answers, smirk still in place.  
  
"I doubt it." Suddenly she flips out of the chair to the left, and her swinging leg kicks the gun out of his hand, a bullet nearly grazing her cheek. He responds quickly with a hard kick to her stomach and a painful jerk of her disc arm. Still, she doesn't release the small case. She tries to kick back but is slammed down on a desk and held by Sark with a lamp wire.  
  
"Why do you insist upon being so stubborn?" A beat. "Yet another trait you inherited from your mother."  
  
The sound of Sydney's heavy breathing fills the room.  
  
She responds gingerly, "We have thirty seconds before security gets back online, now let . . . me . . . go." If she could only reach the gun. It's just there . . .  
  
"Well then," comes his cool British accent, "Shall we continue our negotiations elsewhere?"  
  
"It's not like I have a choice."  
  
Sark quickly gets his gun and leads Sydney out the door. She slips the disc into her purse as subtly as she can.  
  
Suddenly, Sark pulls her into his arms and kisses her. And it's no gentle peck.  
  
She is so startled that she doesn't even react at first. She's shocked to discover herself kissing him back. But before she can pull herself away, a voice calls out, "This area is restricted!"  
  
"Play along," comes Sark's low murmur into her hair as they break away. He looks sufficiently apologetic as the guard approaches them.  
  
"I'm so sorry," he drawls to the guard, "my wife and I seem to have lost ourselves." He smiles affectionately at Sydney. Quickly she remembers to "play along" and returns the smile.  
  
"Angelica, darling," Sark murmurs to her, "shall we return to the festivities?"  
  
Sydney looks at him for a second - might as well make the most of this. She puts on a pouting face. "Freddy, love, wouldn't you rather go? It's late, and I'd like to spend some time with you - alone."  
  
A split second after, she regrets her words. There was the smirk.  
  
"One more dance couldn't hurt . . . believe me, when we get back to the suite, we'll have lots of time."  
  
He escorts her down the stairs, both completely ignoring the guard.  
  
Once out of earshot, Sark comments, "You can't deny that you enjoyed that kiss."  
  
"I can and I will."  
  
"You can deny it to yourself-"  
  
"Freddy, darling, don't be a tease," Sydney replies dryly.  
  
She is startled by Sark's soft laugh.  
  
They reach the bottom of the stairs. The floor is crowded - violin music plays. Sydney is wearing a dark blue sleeveless dress, with a well placed slit in the side. Sark in his usual black, blends with all the other men.  
  
The music stops briefly and begins again, a moderately-paced Russian dance.  
  
"Follow my lead," she hears him say, and she finds herself in step and time with the dance.  
  
Sark is skilled, she has to admit. And she can appreciate the feel of his hand on hers, and that blue-eyed stare as they move around the floor.  
  
After about a minute, Sark says pleasantly, "I would appreciate it if you gave me the disc now."  
  
"Not a chance . . ."  
  
"Then let me tell you something you shouldn't know. My men are stationed at every exit. If I walk out of here, without the disc, they have authorization to shoot the one who does. Sydney," he says with a hint of urgency, "they will shoot. And I would hate to see an agent, such as yourself, wasted that way."  
  
Sydney is silent, and the music again comes to a close.  
  
She looks at Sark. Without a word, she reaches into her purse and hands him the disc.  
  
"Thank you," he says with a smile. He holds out a hand. "Will you permit me to escort you out?"  
  
"That won't be necessary," she says through gritted teeth.  
  
He withdraws his hand, and to her surprise, gives her a soft peck on her cheek. "I hope we meet again."  
  
He leaves her there, stunned and wondering just what she was possibly doing.  
  
-20 Minutes Later-  
  
"I'm heading back to L.A. I gave Sark my back-up disc. He caught me before I could make the back-up, it's blank. He thinks he has the real disc. I have the real copy."  
  
"Good. I'll see you."  
  
"See you." She clicks off her cell phone and continues driving. A plane is waiting for her.  
  
-24 Hours Later-  
  
Sydney opens the door of her apartment, drops her bag, and immediately crashes onto the sofa.  
  
Francie walks in. "Hey! God, you look burned out."  
  
Sydney smiles at her friend, who comes around and stands over her. "Not really," she replies, "just glad to be back."  
  
"Mail came - you got a package," Francie says, dropping a small brown box onto her stomach.  
  
Sydney turns it over and looks at the return address.  
  
Frederick Smith.  
  
Before she can open the box, her cell goes off. With a sigh, she reaches into her pocket. "Hello?"  
  
"That disc you brought to the office was blank. We need you now." The CIA agent hands up.  
  
A sudden shiver of realization fills her. Dropping the cell phone on the table, she quickly rips open the small box.  
  
A disc - and a note.  
  
Agent Bristow -  
  
Thank you for so kindly giving up your back-up disc to us. I am  
returning it, however, because we have the real one and have no use  
for this.  
Obviously you enjoyed that kiss to some degree, or you would've  
noticed when I exchanged my disc for your real one.  
Again, I appreciate your cooperation throughout this slightly  
confusing ordeal. May we meet again.  
  
There is no signature.  
  
She stares at it for a long time, trying to sort her thoughts.  
  
She brought two discs - one back-up she never got the chance to make, and her own real copy. And then - that kiss. Sark had pick pocketed her, basically, taking the real one and switching it with his own blank disc. He had taken a chance - and he'd won out. He had a hard drive, and the CIA had two blank CDs.  
  
With a slight shake of her head, she places both items back in the box as Francie walks in. "What was the package?"  
  
"Work thing - there was this huge account mix-up - in fact, I have to go in again.  
  
Francie raises her eyebrows. "You just got home! Seriously, you work for a group of slave drivers."  
  
Sydney laughs and manages to drag herself off the couch with the box.  
  
"See ya," she calls.  
  
"Catch." Sydney turns and manages to grab the marshmallow flying toward her in the air.  
  
Starting up the car, keys in one hand and marshmallow plus box in the other, she can't help but wonder about him: when would they meet again?  
  
[1/1] 


End file.
